The Last Winter

Friday: Meeting Ronnie (1)

Oriana

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It smells like a corpse in here. Either someone hadn't showered or a gang of stupid kids had thrown roadkill in here overnight as a joke. I'm not laughing. Do you see me laughing? No. No you don't.

Nelia scrunches up her nose in disgust. She smells it too.

"Alright, who farted?" Dallas asks accusingly, sitting up straight in his seat. He wasn't afraid to break the silence.

"It was probably you," Maggie retorts.

"Will you guys SHUT UP?" Veronica nearly shouts. "I'm trying to enjoy the view!"

I join her near the window of the aerial lift, shrugging my backpack off of my burdened shoulders. A muted tone takes over the cable car, and I can hear everyone shift in their seats to steal a look from the windows. I catch Isabella snap a picture with her phone. It is certainly breathtaking. I have never seen anything like this in my life--well, apart from what I've seen on TV of course.

The sunlight glitters over thick layers of undisturbed snow across the rolling hills of the mountainside. Far below, I can make out the outlines of sharp boulders poking through the white blanket. Beautiful, tall pine trees dot the landscape.

"I thought people skied here. Where are all the tracks?" Nolan asks softly.

"That's on the other side of the range," I hear Ralph, the middle aged youth leader, inform him. "They use a completely different lift than this one. We're headed to the lodge right now, which is about a couple miles from the main skiing area."

"I'm not walking two miles just to go ski," Veronica says.

"I don't even like snow," Vena mutters, making a face as she looks down beside her sister.

I sigh and rub the back of my aching neck, thinking of the long day it already has been. We had left the church in the dead hours of the morning, enduring the longest car ride of our lives. 8 1/2 hours cramped in a vehicle may not seem terrible to those who have a passion for long road trips. However, when thrown into a van with half the youth group, one learns to dread a simple 30 minute drive.

We arrived in the snowy mountains of Michigan a little after 1 PM after numerous rest stops and fast food joints on the go.

To be honest, I don't really want to do anything. Could I get away with just retreating into a bedroom in the lodge and just hide there until dinnertime? It feels too cold to do anything anyway. Having been accustomed to 70 degree weather in December, Michigan during winter break seems to be the spawn of Satan.

And a bad snow storm is brewing in Canada, blowing freezing temperatures and wind into the region. It's predicted to hit Michigan by Monday night. Let's pray that we'll be able to leave before the roads get too bad.

A man decked out in a puffy orange coat and hiking boots meets us at the end of the cable car ride. His face is thin and decorated with fine lines, and his eyes are small and beady, strangely sunken into sharp, protruding cheek bones. His head is covered with a thick flap hat, but I suspect that he must be bald.

It's people like this creep who made me terrified of old people when I was younger. The only thing he's missing is a black silk cape and pointy fangs.

"Ah, Ronnie, it's so nice to see you!" Ralph greets him, advancing with his arms spread wide for an expected hug. "It's been a while!"

"Twelve years, to be exact," the man replies rather coldly. When he made no move to cooperate with an embrace, Ralph hesitantly drops his arms. They settle for a stiff handshake instead. "Is this everyone?" he asks, and he sweeps over the youth with a quick scan of his dark eyes.